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fic, sherlock: the adventure of the little black dress (lestrade/sherlock), nc17 - Since you're gone my empty arms have nothing left to hold

and your memory cannot keep me warm but it never leaves me cold

words of wisdom

Now Tom said "Mom, wherever there's a cop beatin' a guyWherever a hungry newborn baby cries,Where there's a fight 'gainst the blood and hatred in the airLook for me Mom, I'll be thereWherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand or a decent job or a helpin' handWherever somebody's strugglin' to be free, look in their eyes Mom you'll see me."

The highway is alive tonight, but nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goesI'm sittin' downhere in the campfire light, with the Ghost of ol' Tom Joad

Title: the adventure of the little black dressPairing: Lestrade/SherlockRating: nc17Wordcount: 2600+Spoilers: if you saw the second episode you won't be spoiled, but there isn't really any specific spoiler about plot points.Summary: “It’s not the huge deal you’re turning it into,” Sherlock replies calmly, and Lestrade wonders if he has fallen asleep while he was writing the report. Crazy dream sounds way saner than reality right now. “I’m looking at this case which might require that I end up in a similar situation, and at the same time I was just merely wondering how it would feel to dress like a woman. I decided I might as well take advantage of the occasion.”Warnings: crossdressing.Disclaimer: ... no, nothing is mine. Though if Rupert Graves was I'd be very happy.A/N: for miya_morana at the five acts exchange; the prompt was crossdressing (with the character doing it feeling sexy rather than humiliated). So I was looking at five acts prompts and this happened and IDK what the hell came into my head because instead of going for one of my safe fandoms I go for SHINY NEW FANDOM of which I have no writing experience whatsoever. Mostly because someone linked me this, this and this and I couldn't resist. God I really hope it works for you. Also it was indecently long as everything I write whenever I try a fandom first so I didn't even try to split in comments. Many thanks to _izu_ who did me a pretty much live beta-ing service while I was writing it. ETA: now with art for it too! [always _izu_ <3]

As he walks up the stairs to his flat, the only thing that DI Lestrade wants to do is getting to his bed and proceed to sleep throughout his entire day off. He has been up for the last thirty-six hours trying to close a tedious case and he’s starting to understand why is it that Sherlock despises Anderson so much. Of course after they did close it, when he had decided to try and ask Donovan if she could write the report, she was nowhere to be found. It’s not that Lestrade hates paperwork that much, but when you’ve been up for more than a day and you’re a common human being, filing reports is the last thing you want to do.

Maybe he should take a long, relaxing bath before going to bed after all. His back is aching after a night spent either inside his office or running around the city – surely it would help him relax if anything.

Mind made, Lestrade reaches his floor and takes the keys out from his pocket, just to find out that his lock has been picked.

Now, any normal person, especially a police officer, would step back and call the police (in a normal person’s case) or his office (in his own), but in this case Lestrade doesn’t fall into the normal person category. Because he knows already what it means if his lock gets picked. Or well, most of the times it means that Sherlock is more bored than usual, and Lestrade can stop hoping that finding a new flatmate meant that he’d be bored less often. Also usually Sherlock never destroys his locks when he picks them, which means that maybe Lestrade should have told him that he had changed keys when a couple of thieves had tried to break in two weeks ago. (They didn’t manage. Sherlock clearly has. Lestrade is grateful that he’s a detective rather than a criminal.)

Lestrade sighs and tries to forget about his idea of getting a long bath. That is probably not going to happen anytime soon.

He pushes the door open and then uses a chain to bolt it. Then he drags a rather heavy chair in front of it just to be extremely sure, and then realizes that his living room is empty.

“Sherlock?” he calls out, not even trying to pretend he didn’t get it.

“You’re late,” comes from the direction of his room, and Lestrade doesn’t even bother to roll his eyes anymore.

“Well, some of us actually have a real job that –”

As soon as he opens the door, he realizes he can’t finish that sentence.

Maybe he won’t ever regain the capacity of speech, to be entirely truthful.

Because – of course, he knows that when Sherlock gets really bored strange things can happen, but this – this is way beyond his brain’s capability of processing, Lestrade thinks.

How is he even supposed to process it when Sherlock is sitting on his bed, with all the nonchalance in the world, wearing a little black dress that stops just above his knee? Other than that, he’s wearing a red soft scarf and a wig, since right now his hair isn’t short and curly anymore but apparently very long, somehow straighter and darker than its usual, and – and a pair of hideous white shoes with high heels. Which completely ruin the entire balance because actually maybe it wasn’t all that bad after the first shock, but those shoes – Christ, it obviously shows that Mrs. Hudson hasn’t had a look at the attire. Any woman with a lick of sense would have screamed in horror at seeing those.

Point is, Sherlock looks absolutely nonplussed. Well, of course, he’s the one wearing clothes that were obviously made with a woman in mind, but – Lestrade’s brain can’t come up with anything to say.

So he settles for the obvious.

“Those shoes are bloody awful,” he states.

“Just the shoes?” Sherlock replies, and Lestrade wonders if he has some strong alcohol somewhere.

“What do you – I mean, what are you even doing? Don’t say that you were bored. I had figured that part out already from the picked lock.”

“It seems like your deductive abilities are improving then,” Sherlock says, and he’s almost smirking, and Lestrade decides that the tie he’s wearing just became unnecessary. He doesn’t need something strangling him right now.

“My deductive abilities can’t get much better right now,” Lestrade mutters, tossing away the tie. “So you were bored and you broke down into my flat dressed up like that?”

“That is almost entirely correct. I wasn’t wearing these clothes when I picked your lock, but it’s the only mistake.”

“And why are you wearing them? Excuse me but I’m not sure that I could get there. Even if I was half as good as you are.”

“It’s not the huge deal you’re turning it into,” Sherlock replies calmly, and Lestrade wonders if he has fallen asleep while he was writing the report. Crazy dream sounds way saner than reality right now. “I’m looking at this case which might require that I end up in a similar situation, and at the same time I was just merely wondering how it would feel to dress like a woman. I decided I might as well take advantage of the occasion.”

“And so you decided you could since you had an excuse?”

“You will never know until you try it, Inspector.”

“So this is an experiment?”

“We can call it like that if you wish so.”

“And couldn’t you do it at home instead of here?”

“Nonsense. First thing, John is currently having dinner with Sarah at the apartment, and while I’m sure that my attire wouldn’t have been the worst option in the entire group, it wasn’t what John would refer to as appropriate. Also doing it there wouldn’t have had sense considering the results I want to obtain. But as the… experiment also requires the presence of another person, and since I couldn’t ask Mrs. Hudson –”

“You came here because I’m the only person insane enough in this city who would have even started a conversation with you after walking inside this room,” Lestrade interrupts, and when Sherlock nods he doesn’t even feel accomplished. “And why would you need a second person for this experiment of yours?”

“Oh, it’s working already.”

“Excuse me? What’s working?”

“You might be pretending not to like what you’re seeing, but you are actually liking it. Quite much, I dare say.”

“How would you even –”

“When you arrived inside the room, you looked ready to collapse.” Which is true, but it wouldn’t have taken a genius to find that out. “But, if you really found the sight as disgusting as you should find it, according to general standards of fashion at least, you wouldn’t have been staring at me since then. Because, Inspector, you haven’t moved your eyes once and you have barely blinked. And it isn’t the disgusted kind of staring.”

“And what kind would that be?”

“Intrigued, at least.”

Sherlock stands up then, and Lestrade wonders how he can even walk on five centimeters of heels without even wavering. Then again maybe it’s a hopeless question as usual.

“But intrigued may not be entirely accurate. Your breath rate has also sped up, and you have taken your tie off, therefore either you’re feeling suffocated or you’re feeling hot, and considering that the window is open and that it’s November, it can’t be because of the room’s temperature. And except for the shoes, you haven’t said that you didn’t like my current attire.”

“Why, do you like it?”

“Oh, I find it comfortable enough and interesting enough. I was curious about how the dress would have felt, but I am rather pleased with the overall result. I don’t think I’d mind doing it another time, if necessary,” he keeps on, just rattling facts as usual. The problem isn’t how Sherlock feels about little black dresses though; the problem is that he’s right about pretty much everything regarding Lestrade himself. He won’t even lose time denying it; he doesn’t dislike what he’s seeing. Actually, Sherlock doesn’t look half bad dressed like this, except for this small detail about the shoes and another small shoe-related detail – while Sherlock usually has less than five centimeters on Lestrade, right now he has almost ten, and considering that he’s wearing a little black dress, the whole thing feels completely wrong. It totally shows that this thing is all Sherlock and no one else – any other normal person would have vetoed those shoes.

“Alright, I might be willing to admit that you aren’t wrong, but can I give you some friendly advice?”

Sherlock nods and Lestrade looks everywhere but at the shoes.

“Any serious woman would never wear white shoes with a little black dress. And if your target for the evening was proving that I’d like to have my way with you even if you’re dressed up like this, I might even be up for proving you right, but for God’s sake take those bloody shoes off or I’ll do it myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Sherlock answers with all the calm in the world, and then he sits on the bed again.

Lestrade has another look at him and right, well, except for the shoes, he’ll have to surrender: he likes what he sees. One would think that a dress would look awful on someone tall and all angles like Sherlock, but instead it fits nicely, not like a glove but almost there, and it makes you want to peel it off slowly.

Well then, if Lestrade has to be the guinea pig in this, he won’t stall it for much longer. It’s not like it’s the first time they have sex, but it surely has to be the weirdest.

“Then it’ll be my pleasure,” Lestrade says before leaning down and taking off the offending shoes. He glances at them with disgust, even if taken off context they aren’t too offending. Out of context.

He throws them in a corner, ready to forget about their existence, and then he can’t kind of resist pressing a kiss to the newly freed calf that he’s currently holding up in his left hand. He raises his eyes up again just to see Sherlock looking mildly accomplished.

“Much better,” he states before he realizes he has involuntarily started licking his lips.

“Inspector, you are enjoying it then,” Sherlock starts. “The way you were –”

“Sherlock?” Lestrade interrupts. “You won. Now will you just stop telling me what I’m feeling?”

And before Sherlock can answer Lestrade decides that it’s time to act. He leans down and kisses Sherlock while bringing a knee on the bed. He doesn’t make it an overtly rough kiss; just hard enough that Sherlock stops talking for the bloody moment. He brings his hands behind Sherlock’s neck, meeting fake hair, and while he’ll have to admit that the wig kind of really worked in the overall image, he hates the feeling.

“I think this can go as well,” he whispers when the kiss is done, and then he throws the wig away, buries his hand in Sherlock’s hair and moves so that they’re lying on the bed and that he’s on top. He kicks away his own shoes and proceeds on taking Sherlock’s scarf off, and he can’t help feeling pleased with himself when he realizes that he isn’t the only one getting interested quickly here. He moves his hand so that it covers Sherlock’s hip, feeling the smooth cloth of the dress following the curve underneath, and then Sherlock gives his half-opened shirt a pretty strong tug.

“You went the whole way, huh?” Lestrade can’t help asking, running his hands over a couple of black satin panties. Simple, but definitely female.

“I never do anything half-way. Now will you –”

Lestrade leans down and places his mouth right over the fabric and Sherlock doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t speak when Lestrade brings the panties down enough to free his very-much-interested cock and he even gasps loudly when Lestrade takes it inside his mouth. While Lestrade knows that this and half-broken moans are the most he’ll get out of Sherlock (never screaming, never talking, never hair-pulling) he’s perfectly fine with it. If only because he can feel how worked up Sherlock actually was over this, and as he tries to take him in as much as he can he can’t help feeling satisfied with himself when he glances up and sees Sherlock turn his head and bite into the pillow.

Considering that he’s giving head to one person who has their reactions controlled in a way that no human being is capable of, it’s flattering enough that he’s had a reaction of this kind at all. His hands stay still on Sherlock’s hips, feeling soft bare skin without the dress being a barrier anymore, and the more he hears soft moans muffled by the pillow, the harder Lestrade gets, but he’s only human and who wouldn’t with such a sight in front of him?

When Sherlock comes with a soft gasp into his mouth, Lestrade doesn’t move much, except that he has to take one hand away and touch himself, because there’s really a limit to everything and he can’t resist much longer.

It takes him a couple of strokes to come, too, but really, he was half-sure he’d have come untouched given another minute. When he moves away his mouth tastes bitter and feels sticky, his trousers and underwear are a mess and Sherlock is too. But how else can you put it when he’s breathing not too regularly, wearing a pair of completely ruined panties and has lips swollen from kissing?

Ee thanks so much! :D I'm really glad that it worked for you, especially since I was like 'wtf first time I write this fandom and I do kinky stuff?' XD and yeah, word. I love those pictures but the shoes.. ugh. I think they're mentally-scarring. ;)

I kind of couldn't resist it. Not when I saw those pictures anyway. And thank you so much for reading! ;D and lol oh god idk if I want him to know how much I don't approve of his taste in shoes, but maybe he'd take it nicely. XD

I KNOW? Either it's proof that men, even if sure enough of their sexuality to crossdress, have absolutely no sense of fashion, or it was a dare. Or his taste is THAT bad but I don't want to believe that, lol. ;)

Thanks so very much! And yay if you liked it even if that isn't your main cup of tea. ;)